


In the moon and the stars and the sun

by sally (team_fen)



Category: Jaran Series - Kate Elliott
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/team_fen/pseuds/sally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve ways the Jaran moved to (or were moved by) the music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the moon and the stars and the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imogen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=imogen).



 

 

**1\. Stomping**

It falls to the young men of the Jahar to prepare a piece of land for the dancing – flatten the surface, remove the rocks, build a fire. 

They’ve only just begun stomping down the tough grass to the slow beat of a drum when the actors come over, curious.  Alexei explains what they are doing and offers to let them join in – one takes over the drumming, the others inexpertly but enthusiastically bend the stubborn grass to their will.  One by one the Jaran slip off, leaving the actors to their “exciting cultural experience.”

Alexei and the others regroup a safe distance away to trade sly glances and to send a crowd of children back to heckle.

**2\. Children’s dance**

The sun is on its way down and the musicians are warming up, scraps of spirited melody set to a steady beat, the sound whipping in and out in the wind.  Nearly all the others are at the dance circle, too, practising steps before the adults arrive.  Yuri is bored of the “Who can jump highest?” game (is it Sasha again today or will Pavel finally overtake him?), and the group of girls have chased him away, reluctant to share their secrets with an interloper. But what to do?  He notices off to one side another boy wistfully observing the proceedings, pale hair glowing red-gold in the sunset.  Yuri catches his eye and holds it, stretching his neck up lizard-like, the way he does when he wants to annoy his sisters.  He snaps his tongue out of his mouth and pretends to chew an imaginary bug.  The boy laughs delightedly, his face lighting up and Yuri grins back, a reflected glow. 

Shortly thereafter, Yuri and his new best friend Petya can be found cavorting about in a complex step involving a waddle and a lurch.  It is a terrible mockery of the horse dance that Sonia tried to teach him.  She would probably squawk: “Yurinya, you bring shame to the Orzekhov name!” and make him practise more, but the musicians who see them just smile and take up the unsteady rhythm.  The other children join in before everyone dissolves into fits of giggles.  Petya names it the “fat old pony.”

 

**3\. Bird dance **(Vera and Vasil)

She is inhumanly elegant, a beautiful, perfect vessel, a tribute to the Gods. She is the Messenger, winged and masked in carefully collected feathers.  She steps, she hops, she pivots.  She swoops low, then draws back, sharp and smooth.  _Come_, she gestures.  _Follow_.

He leaps and bows, flirting with the crowd, drawing them in, basking in the attention.  He shakes his shoulders, fine plumage on full display.

He draws his saber and twists it in the firelight; she draws near.  They circle and close, for the last time.  They are old enough, now, to know that this is not their dance – even if they do dance it best.

**4\. Horse dance**

Boots stamp and clap a gallop, hair ruffles and streams, joyous spirits ride on the wind. Nadia raises her chin to the man at her side – a challenge – and picks up the pace.

**5\. Circle dance**

He spins and spins, losing his place and name into the joy and the firelight until he is but a boy, chasing away his cares with thoughts of freedom and the future. 

All too soon, the music changes and the world shifts.

The women’s circle moves right, the men’s circle moves left around them, and Vladi looks through lowered lashes at his new partner.

**6\. Partner dances**

It is not that Ilya can’t dance – he had his mother, aunts, cousins, to make sure he knew steps and wouldn’t embarrass himself.

It is more that he dances with all his heart and does not often find a partner to match him. 

Which is not to say that there are not good dancers – in fact, there are many, and indeed many who far more skilled than he.  It is Ilya’s joy to watch them at the campfire, to see his people and to know that no matter how he changes them, as long as they dance, they will be Jaran.

Every so often, he accepts an offer; a bold young woman offers him her hand in such a way he can’t refuse and he finds himself agreeably pulled from his lofty thoughts.  Or at least, it is agreeable until the musicians signal a shift in partners and he finds himself facing none other than Terese Sorensen. 

The familiar tune picks up again and… their weight counterbalances, their passions collide and Ilya knows a single perfect moment.  He forgets their audience. He finds clarity.  He burns.

The music ends and they stop neatly in time, tension and balance exact, breathing with more than just exertion.  Ilya forgets himself enough to say:

_“Ah yes.  You understand.”_

_“Understand what?”_

_“Dancing.  Some people move their feet while there is music, some move their feet with the music.”_

**7\. Songs**

Someone calls for a song, and it is seconded and then clamoured for, until Fedya puts up his hands, amused, and says that he does not mind singing for them, but he would like to sing the ballad of Arkady the Smith’s son, and does anyone know Svetlana’s part?

There is some conferencing and then a young woman is pushed out front of the crowd by her friends, laughing and protesting.  She sits next to him, says her name’s Irina.

Giving her a sweet smile, he starts with the verse where Arkady and Svetlana first meet.  Irina picks it up effortlessly and Fedya switches to harmony, where he can let his melancholy add depth to the story without bringing down the mood of the crowd.

Later he will sing for his lost love.

**8\. Women’s dances **(Chapalii)

Her movement is shrouded and mysterious - things unknowable masked with a veil.  She shapes her body into an intricate language of contortion Anatoly appreciates but doesn't understand, hands and head and arms slipping, whispering, twisting in and against fabric.  He has his people send the security recording of it to Bakhtiian's wife to decipher in case of any hidden meaning.  Tess sees it and weeps, much to Anatoly's chagrin.

"Gods,” she says.  And then laughs, wiping away her tears.  “Gods, I’m sorry, Anatoly.  It’s just... it’s _poetry_.  I didn’t know…,” she lapses into silence Anatoly waits, uncomfortably.  “Is it a message?” he asks.

“I’ll need some time to study it,” Tess says.  She sighs, “but probably.”

**9\. Men’s dances**

When the Black Riders dance, it is with skill and daring, camaraderie and threats.  It is a dangerous and difficult thing.

They spin with sabres held high, leap with knives thrown down in challenge.  Missteps draw blood.

It is every man’s last stand, side by side with his brothers, desperate and violent and sure.

It is a thrust, a parry, and several other things one doesn’t mention before women.

It is the love of war, the last honourable pursuit for the men Keregin leads.

**10\. Games**

Kirill is in fine form tonight.  Someone has dressed him in women’s clothing and he is expertly skirting – so to speak – the line between hilarity and poor taste.  He has roped one of his fellow Riders into playing the object of his affections while he woos them as an old crone, a weeping widow and a young girl.  The audience is alternately jeering and offering advice in about as raucous a fashion as a Jaran gathering ever gets.

Although Ilya will no doubt take Kirill to task in the morning, Sonia thinks that perhaps Arina Veselov will finally be bold enough to ask Kirill to her tent tonight.  A quick scan of the crowd shows her that Arina is staring after Kirill with more frank admiration and less pining than usual.  Good for her.

Sonia works her way to the back of the crowd to where the quieter young men wince with shame at Kirill’s antics and try to hold back their laughter.

The young man in question looks over apprehensively before politely dropping his eyes.

“Sonia Orzekhov,” Mikhail says cautiously.

“You have been avoiding me!”

“No, I….”

If possible, he looks even more alarmed.  Sonia likes his instincts.  And his big strong arms, and his kind eyes, and the quiet way he has with children and the respect accorded to him by his elders.

“Mikhail, I have been looking for you all night.  You owe me a dance,” she informs him, loftily.

Of course, he owes no such thing, but he ducks his head anyway and replies, “I am honoured to dance with you.”

Sonia smiles, pleased, and ignores Mikhail’s friends who are one quick step away from jeering and offering advice to _him_.  They can wait.  She takes his hand, and leads him off… to her tent.

**11\. Slow dances**

Nico is riding out with the Jahar again tomorrow and maybe that is why Juli finally lets him have a dance with her.  They look like any other married couple tonight, swaying lazily in the firelight while the unmarried men and women partner off discreetly and head for their tents.

At least, they would if her arms weren’t covered in prominently displayed bracelets and if he weren’t still as nervous as a man on his wedding night.

Will she miss him?  Or does she feel guilt for hoping he won’t come back?  Maybe now that his arm has healed, she will send her brothers after him and this dance is his final farewell.

At this range, it would be hard for her to miss.

“Relax, Husband,” Juli thumps his chest and frowns.  “I remember you being better at this.”

**12\. Tales**

“In Jeds?” Tess asks.  “I learned some of the Jeddan court dances, but they’re very upright and stately.  Simple steps.  It was more about conducting semi-private conversation in plain sight.  Nothing particularly interesting.  Why,” she stops, “what kind of dancing did _you_ do in Jeds?”

To Tess utter bemusement, Ilya actually _blushes_.  “I did not dance in Jeds,” he states firmly, sitting up and glaring hard into a dark tent corner.

“Are you sure?” she pries, bewildered.  “Didn’t you live with… oh.  Oh!”  She laughs and he glares at _her_.  She kisses him, fondly.  “You didn’t dance,” she says, “but I’ll bet you saw some dancing.”  Tess goes up onto her knees and curves against him.  He steadies her, his hands on her hips and she swivels them in a deliberate figure-of-eight.  “Did it look something like this?” she smirks.

“Shameless woman,” Ilya mutters to her stomach, but Tess can hear his smile.

“You knew that before you married me,” Tess points out.

“Shameless wife,” Ilya says smugly, and finally kisses her back.


End file.
